


Her Name was Lucatiel

by Kanyayon



Category: Dark Souls II
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, Other, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-04 10:51:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14591451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kanyayon/pseuds/Kanyayon
Summary: You encounter the ailing knight in the foregarden of Aldia's Keep. It is her last night, she feels it, and she wants to make a beautiful memory of it.





	Her Name was Lucatiel

**Author's Note:**

> The protagonist is meant to be gender-undefined, hence the reader-insert, though some parts may or may not be obvious that a lesbian wrote this :p

Before you stands a gate as tall as the trees that were once giants, carved from onyx remarkably untouched by ruin, in contrast to its inlays of gold that has long lost its lustre. Whatever secrets beyond that the old King Vendrick had locked away, they will be yours for you now carry his ring. Oh, how many times have you died and fought to get here. To hope that the cure for the Curse is within reach is painful, but it is all you have and you will not despair yet. You dare approach and the gate responds, groaning open to a garden of withering trees standing paradoxically amid unruly pockets of weeds.

Every step you have taken on this time-stranded land has been a cautious one, and you proceed no differently upon the once-smooth stone path towards the manorial house at its end. Ahead to your left lies a husk of a wooden shack, faint embers peaking through the patchwork of holes in its walls. A longing stirs deep within your being, the same kind of longing you feel when you are in the presence of a bonfire once tended to by the Firekeepers of old.

Inside the shack is indeed an unlit bonfire inside, and in a dim corner sits a downcast figure clad in the black cuirass and armoured hat of a knight of Mirrah. There is, of course, only one knight from Mirrah you know and she was already struggling to keep her wits when you last see her. Now she seems to be lost further in herself, not even stirring at your coming in. The chilly air of the Shaded Woods reach even here, only dispelling as you ignite the remnants of the First Flame within the ash. Only with the light of the bonfire does Lucatiel notice you. "Who are you..." she whispers, barely the spark of living behind her eyes. "Oh..." she slowly brightens with recognition, "No, forgive me... I know you... Yes, of course."

She rests against her greatsword which she thrust into the soil, and under her shadow is the metal visage she uses to hide her own. Much as she loathes bearing her symptom of Undeath so frontally, Lucatiel has been making it a point to remove the mask when she speaks with you ever since she took it off at the Lost Bastille. Her mood seems to lighten at least slightly whenever she does too, as if the weight of the steel was also on her spirits.

"How goes your journey?" Her gaze goes to the King's Ring on your hand, then to the very same piece on her own. "I'm afraid I can no longer continue on mine."

She removes a heavy leather glove and with that now-bare hand reaches for the rot on her face, gingerly at first and then firm. "Did I give you an effigy before? Of course I did, I have no other friends here and--" She glances away. "The Old Women said it reminds us of who we were, but it has never shown me as I was before the Curse. I suppose it was easier to pretend it to be an unknowable trinket than to accept the truth."

"I can deny it no more."

She takes her hat off and turns to you, a desperate conviction all but written in the way she holds your eyes in hers. "I feel my hollowing upon me," her voice quivering even as her tone is resolute, "I don't want to die here in this foul land, to disappear unknown and unloved as if I have never lived at all." She grabs your hand, squeezing it with a tightness that is more snug than painful. "If I cannot live then I hope I can carry on in your thoughts. Or perhaps even in your heart."

Your hand still in hers, she pulls towards you and whispers, "Please, dear friend, will you allow me to leave a lasting impression upon you?"

Your lips meet hers in slow, hesitant exchange. How strange it is to feel this carnal wanting in so cursed a place. You have come here so that you might regain your lost humanity and yet to actually  _feel_ human again after so long...

She begins to draw away from you, her head tilts in an apologetic downcast. You stop her with a touch on her cheek and a brush of her dark blond fringe, guiding her crystal blue eyes to your gaze. To hold her like this under the glow of a hearty flame, the dissonant unease that holds you back burns away and its place is a desperate passion. You kiss her once more, and this time you kiss her with such a determination which must give her no doubt that you return her affection. For her part, you feel her arms complete the embrace.

As your tongues dance their hot, sloppy dance, her hands leave you and with them follows sounds of leather creaking and rustling. Nice as it is to be in each other's arms and mouths, your entire being is hungering for more, and it is clear that Lucatiel is as well. You both break off and begin divesting yourselves, and though your hands go through the motions your attention is on your knightly lover. You watch as she, with one arm, hoists her loosened cuirass off her own shoulders and sets it by her sword. How strong she must be to handle that weight with delicacy.

Her cloths and leathers come off in urgency. Even by the warmth of the bonfire, her nipples are hard and flushed. You only realise how much you're staring when she moves to help you shed the few pieces of raiment you still have on. Bodies bare, you both again clasp onto the other though now you kiss each each other's necks as much as your mouths. Her fierce yet gentle nibbling over your jugular and her rough fingertips running down your spine, these give you a shock of pleasure which makes your knees weak. But she catches you and does not relent with her lips, and her thighs almost straddle yours, smearing your leg with a thick wetness.

With her dipping you back, the urge to surrender becomes overwhelming. As you receive her nuzzles and her smooches, you marvel at her chiseled shoulders and biceps with your hands. There is power in her physique -her muscles unyielding to your squeeze- and a lifetime of battles in her scarred and coarse skin. Yet there are also hints of past courtly romances in the way she handles and tastes you.

Just as this position is becoming the least bit straining, she lays you on your back and starts planting a trail of kisses from your lips down to your chest where she then fixates her tongue on one nipple and her fingers on the other. She does not stop, not until the teasing elicits from you a sigh. The kisses continue down your belly to your hips, and veering to your inner thigh. To have her lips so close and yet so far, it makes your heart beat faster and your nethers ache in the anticipation. It is likely not so long, but it feels as though she makes you wait for minutes before finally taking your swelling into the moist embrace of her mouth. You quiver at the sensation of her tongue and lips and the sheer intimacy of the act forces on your cheeks a hot blushing. She looks up at you often while she works you, shifting back and forth between a gentle relishing and a hungry furor. The tingling in your loins get stronger with every lick and every suckling, building up to a wave of pleasure washing over your whole being and a vigorous release. Eagerly, Lucatiel swallows the fruits of her labour and as you lie on your sweat-lined back, panting for lost breath, she laps up stray streams of your juices on your thighs and your sex. Each drag of her tongue sends smaller tremors through your nerves, your toes clenching from the aftershocks.

When your senses are your own again, you sit up and find Lucatiel lounging on the ground, watching you with the faintest of smiles on her lips. How nice would it be if she could smile more fully. You kneel over her legs and lean forward to nuzzle at her bosom. She begins to pet you on the head, and with this encouragement you lock your lips around a still-stiff nipple. Perhaps it is her knight's pride, but you see jaw clench as if trying to silence herself though her respiring is a tad louder. You suck harder and still she is stubborn. So you stop and grasps her shoulders, guiding her to lie on her back and then softly grab at her modest breasts, kneading her nipples between your fingers as you do. She is biting her lip now, and you feel her legs pushing against yours, inviting you between them. You accept the invitation though you take your time with it, massaging her stocky waist and pressing on her hard abdominals. You give her a kiss under the navel before you dive under her loins. With your hands gripping onto her firm thighs, you pay her back for the teasing she gives you, her oyster twitching and glistening more and more as you close towards it. You clean her of her wetness with the lightest of lingual touches, only for her to flow again. You ease a finger inside her, then another, your rhythm slow at first. As you hasten you feel her constrict you fingers, paying attention to it so you may move at her pace. With your free hand, you pull back the hood over her clitoris and gently lick around it, then finally sucking on it. Eventually, you feel her tightening and a flood of juices gush past your fingers, she arches her back as it comes. You climb onto her and make of show of slurping the thick white fluid on your fingers, then you let her taste herself with a kiss.

There is still much night left and the two of you continue to indulge in each other's bodies for all of it. Yet when it ends, the night feels all too short. When you awake in the twilight hours, you are alone with only the arms and armour of Mirrah's knightly order.

"My name is Lucatiel," you remember her whispering in your ear when you have your last cuddle with her, "I beg of you, remember my name."


End file.
